


Parascientific Method

by renwhit



Series: Road to Damascus [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ADHD Jon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cane user Jon, Canonical Character Death, End!Tim, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghost!Tim, Humor, Non-Canonical Character Undeath, Ship Teasing, Supernatural Tomfoolery, The only thing he's better at is shoving his problems in a box and keeping his fingers crossed, Tim is great with kids and I will die by that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renwhit/pseuds/renwhit
Summary: Jon lifted his recorder again. “Subject able to make contact with inorganic materials, and is assumedly just as dexterous as he was in life.”“Ooh, subject. Very ‘mad scientist’ of you. What test next, Dr. Frankenstein?”Jon lowered the recorder with an offended scoff. “Excuse me, I think I have a few more credentials thanMr.Frankenstein. I have a degree, for one thing.”Or, in which Tim makes the best of things.[Part of a series, but can be read alone!]
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood & Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims, Melanie King & Tim Stoker
Series: Road to Damascus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594225
Comments: 122
Kudos: 709
Collections: GerryTitan verse





	Parascientific Method

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to rtd2! like i say in the summary, this one can be read alone. the previous fic gives context and will definitely be a necessary read for later installments, though.  
> this installment is a hefty motherfucker (over 10k. jesus), and it's not the only one in the series. buckle up!!
> 
> suggested listening: caught in the middle by paramore

“Careful.”

“Sorry? Didn’t catch that, I— Oh, shit!”

_“Tim!”_

“Wo-oah, sorry boss! Thought I was going to drop the— Whoops!”

“Tim, can you _please_ focus, and stop— stop trying to drop everything!”

“I’m hurt that you think I’m not doing my best here, unless—!”

“ _Son of a—"_

Tim said a quick thank you in his head to Danny for insisting that Tim teach him how to juggle when they were in primary school — meaning, Tim got a friend to show him in class, then came home with his rudimentary grasp to hand down like he was some juggling sage with Danny as his lucky pupil. It wasn’t a skill he had much reason to use, but muscle memory was hard to forget. 

In any case, he had a very good reason to use it now: irritating Jon. 

“Relax, it’s just a few Institute mugs. If I drop one, put it on the Lukas family tab.”

Jon did his best to combine a scowl with his ‘serious scholar with no time for your nonsense’ face. Tim gave it a three out of ten for intimidation. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful juggler—“

“Too late for flattery!”

“— _But_ that’s hardly the point here. We don’t know what sort of effect your whole… _situation_ has on how you interact with the world. Unless you magically remembered anything else from your travel here, and still don’t wish to make a statement about the specifics, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.” 

Tim huffed a short laugh as he caught the last mug. “Yeah, I’m good with what bits I remember. It was shit, it took ages, and unless you want me to bust out my own ribcage again, we’re best off skipping the details.”

“Right.” Jon lifted his recorder again. “Subject able to make contact with inorganic materials, and is assumedly just as dexterous as he was in life.”

“Ooh, _subject._ Very ‘mad scientist’ of you. What test next, Dr. Frankenstein?”

Jon lowered the recorder with an offended scoff. _“Excuse_ me, I think I have a few more credentials than _Mr._ Frankenstein. I have a degree, for one thing.”

“Not like that degree has anything to do with your job. I’d say you’re about even,” Tim replied, grinning.

_“What?_ Victor Frankenstein was a disaster who destroyed himself for a goal that was by all rights impossible—“

“Mhm.”

“—and spent all his time _brooding_ because of his mistakes—“

“Right.”

“—and once people started dying, he launched off on some hare-brained pursuit against the monster without thinking whether it was _logical_ or what sort of consequences there would be to his own health—“

“You realize that none of this disproves my point, yeah?”

Jon spluttered wordlessly for a moment. “At least I don’t have a g-d complex the size of _Jupiter—"_

_Crash!_

Their bickering stopped as both Tim and Jon stared at the shattered remains of the three mugs. Slowly, Jon raised his recorder once more. 

“Subject must pay attention to the material he makes contact with in order to keep that contact. Archivist’s note: perform further tests with something less breakable.”

* * *

He still got stares as he walked around the Institute, which was no surprise. Half the people who didn’t work in some place as dangerous as artifact storage hadn’t fully believed in the supernatural before now, but Tim didn’t intend to just lurk in the basement and hope no one saw him.

Boring. Depressing. Pass.

According to Basira, new boss Peter sent an email requesting that no one broadcast the new Institute specter to the world at large — those that brought so many curious people to their front door would, he added with plenty of exclamation points, never have to worry about being around too many people ever again. 

Personally, Tim didn’t think it mattered either way. The Magnus Institute, going on about ghosts? Nothing new there, not even if they insisted it was _for real,_ this time, _seriously._

He spent most of his wanderings pretending he had somewhere to be beyond drifting aimlessly around, all while putting on a show of normalcy. Even the weirdest things could become mundane through exposure. With any luck, someday his coworkers _(Old_ coworkers? Was he still technically employed?) would stop staring at him like they expected him to dissolve into mist. 

The only way he could think to combat that unease was acting exactly as he used to — pre-archives, even. Really bring back memories for everyone, from all the way before they collectively started thinking he had some sort of breakdown. 

Maybe he did, but he’d like to see any of them handle it all better. Hell, handle any one part of it. Worms. Monsters. Corridors. Ghostification. Et cetera. Fucking nightmare, every part.

But no, no. He already decided he wasn’t going to keep dwelling on self-pity. Not like he could have a panic attack over itches without any skin to itch, right? That was the past. Didn’t matter anymore. He had plenty to deal with now without getting back in that rut. 

So, when he walked in the break room one afternoon, he did his best to keep it casual. 

He recognized most of the people there — Lupita from the financial office, Rosie the secretary, the old fellow researcher William, plus a few others — and they sure as hell recognized him. Lupita managed to hide most of her discomfort as she waved, and Rosie raised her mug in greeting before going back to her book. By the ancient microwave, William kept sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye like he didn’t want to flat-out stare, but Tim honestly would have preferred staring. Better for everyone to get their fill of Stoker in one hit and move on with their day than just try to outline him in the negative space they let themselves look at. 

Tim smiled and nodded at Lupita, then scanned the room for an opening as William went to skirt past him through the door. And… _there._ In William’s hand was a small bag of grapes that he must have grabbed while reheating his tea — it was _exactly_ the sort of thing they’d used before. 

“Hey, Will!” When William turned from where he stopped just outside the door, he finally came damn near to eye contact. Tim continued, “Bet I can catch one of those from here.”

It was a stupid game he used to play with fellow researchers back then. He got good at it too, able to catch pieces of popcorn or small candies from across the room. It wasn’t long before he didn’t have to say anything to the others at all when they were eating something he wanted to go for, just had to give them a grin and lower himself in case he needed to dive for it. 

Tim gave William that same grin now. “C’mon, try it.”

The space between where William stood just outside the door and Tim in front of Rosie’s chair across the break room was far from Tim's record distance, but still William hesitated. “Will that even… work? With your whole, uh, situation.”

“Trust me, it’s gonna be great.”

This would be tricky to pull off, but he could make it. Just needed to position himself right, stand just so William angled his throw this way, and then… 

With no small trepidation, William sent a grape sailing through the air. Lupita watched with bright eyes, no stranger to the old game, and the others scattered around the break room paused their conversations to see if their company ghost was about to show a new trick. 

Telling himself to be intangible felt as nonsensical as telling himself to stop seeing color, but until he got a better handle on whatever abilities he had now he’d just have to live with it feeling strange. 

Strange or not, it worked. The grape hit its mark in Tim’s mouth perfectly, then sailed through his head to land straight in Rosie’s mug of coffee. She jumped in her chair and blinked at the mug in shock, then looked up at Tim, then back to the mug. 

“Damn,” Tim said blandly. “Thought I had it that time. Whoops.”

There was a brief silence, then a wheezing noise from the door. He turned back to see William clutching the doorframe and red-faced with laughter. His tea sloshed onto the linoleum, but he didn’t seem to notice. Lupita joined after a moment, though whether it was due to Tim’s dumb joke or William losing his mind over it was hard to say. 

Rosie peered suspiciously into her mug. “Mr. Stoker, if my coffee tastes like ectoplasm now, I’ll be very cross with you.”

He grinned at her as he crouched and braced one arm over the back of her chair. “But think of the scientific leaps and bounds that’d bring,” he said as he swept his other hand through the air like he was envisioning all her many potential accolades. “First person to have ghost-flavored coffee. Don’t turn down a potential moneymaker so quickly.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he could tell she was fighting off a smile. “The only thing keeping me from dumping my ghost-flavored coffee on your head is knowing it’d fall right through you. Bastard.”

Tim pressed a hand to his heart, solemn. “Rosie, you have my word that as soon as I get better at manifesting on command, you’ll be the first one I find so you can pour your coffee on me.”

That broke her, and she fell into her own exasperated laughter. 

One brief afternoon didn’t solve every person’s apprehension, but when Tim passed William in the hall and got direct eye contact and a smile, it felt like one step closer. 

* * *

“Alright, what else…” Jon lifted a small notepad and scanned it. Peering over his shoulder, Tim saw small, intricate characters marching vertically down the page. He wasn’t fluent, but he knew enough to recognize it as notes on the statement he gave at the very beginning.

“Didn’t know you spoke Chinese.”

Jon looked over at him blankly. “What? I don’t.”

“...Right.” Chalk up one more point for Weird Eye Nonsense.

When Jon looked back at his notes, he blinked in surprise. “Wait, what the hell…?” He rifled through the other pages to find a hodgepodge of languages, some entirely in one or another and others swapping at random, even mid-sentence. “When did…?” 

Tim took a moment to focus, then thwapped the back of the notebook with a hand. “Let’s deal with one set of paranormal BS at a time, yeah?” 

“Right.” Jon’s brow stayed furrowed, but he shook his head. “Right, let’s see… Oh, here’s something — you said you could feel bystanders approach without ever seeing them, correct?”

“Yeah. Two of ‘em, and there was another one in the car. I think it was their dog or something, but I don’t really remember.” 

Jon nodded as he scribbled another quick note, this time in a language Tim didn’t even recognize. “Can you sense me now?”

“Sure.” He didn’t have to think twice about it.

“What about further? Is there anyone, say, in the hall?” 

That was less automatic. Tim closed his eyes and tried to… listen? What sense did this even count as? Regardless, some sort of _something_ registered. The closest sensation he could compare it to was holding his hand near something hot and feeling the heat radiating off it without actually coming in contact. “Uh… Yeah. Yeah, in the hall. I… _think_ it’s moving this way?”

Tim opened his eyes again to see Jon’s head snap to the door, his shoulders immediately tense. He looked ready to make a run for it. Yikes. 

When the door opened to show Melanie, his tension only dropped by half. Double yikes. 

Melanie stopped in the doorway, eyes darting between Tim and Jon. “Oh. Sorry,” she said, not sounding at all sorry. “I just left a book on the desk. Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Want to help with ghost science?” Tim asked. Jon sent him a slightly panicked look, which Tim ignored. “So we can get some more concrete numbers on the books for Dr. Frankenstein over here.”

She snorted at the nickname. “What ghost science?” There was some distrust on her face, the sort he used to only see when they would complain about Jon or Elias together. It stung — wasn’t like he woke up one day and said, _Boy, would I like to be a spooky specter! Sure would love to float around and remind everyone of their own mortality! Check out my new party trick, where I show you what I look like with my arm torn off and one square foot of skin left!_

Elias, on the other hand, deserved every bit of distrust he got and then some. He’d always given Tim bad vibes, even back when he only set off Tim’s internal _huge creep_ alarms with his weird interest in Jon.

Jon, who… also hadn’t picked this lot in life. Who hadn’t chosen to make sure none of them could quit or escape the Institute.

Whatever. Process that later. Ghost science time.

“It seems Tim has some sort of radar now, like a…”

Melanie cut in when Jon trailed off. “A thermal scanner, with a long range?”

“Yes! Or, I— I think so. Something like it, anyway.” 

She pushed off the door frame to join them in the center of the room, looking Tim up and down like he might have grown a satellite in the last hour. “And you, what, can track _souls_ or something?”

“Hell if I know,” Tim replied with a shrug. “I think it’s just… life. Heartbeats maybe, or brain activity.”

“Let me see—“ Melanie snatched the notes from Jon’s hands. “Ah. Useless. Terrific.”

“You could just _ask_ what it says,” Jon groused as he took his notebook back.

“What examples of that radar thing do we have to work with?” She had a look on her face Tim had never seen before, equal parts curious and intense.

He smiled a little and rocked back on his heels. Let the nerds do what they did best.

“Well, there was an encounter with two people and what might have been a dog or some other pet, but he also knew—“

“—Where to go after he woke up again!”

“Exactly!”

“So what’s the test, then?” 

Jon rubbed an eye under his glasses, accidentally marking his cheek with the pen still in his hand. “We haven’t done anything beyond my checking he could sense me, and then him sensing you in the hall just now.”

“Hm.” Melanie glanced over at him again with that same slight distrust, but her curiosity overshadowed it. “Please tell me I felt different than Jon.”

Jon made an offended noise that Tim talked over with ease. “I haven’t exactly got a control group here.” 

“Fair. So what exactly are we testing, then?”

Tim didn’t miss her use of _we_ rather than _you._ Once a ghost hunter, always a ghost hunter.

“I thought it’d make sense to see if he can track movement first,” Jon said, scribbling a quick note. “Or no, clearly he can, the statement said two people _approached_. It’d be more accurate to say I want to test how refined and accurate that is on a finer scale. If we could just have a more detailed statement—“

Tim reached out and snapped his fingers between Jon’s face and the notebook he was rifling through. It didn't make a sound. Hopefully the motion alone was enough. “Glad you’re enthusiastic, boss, but I’m not doing this with the research department for a reason.” 

Jon was completely expressionless when he looked up, and the dark grey of his eyes looked more like silver for a split second. He blinked hard, and the shine vanished. “Right. Right, of course.” Mouth tight, he looked back at the page, then to Melanie. “Would you mind moving around, and Tim, see if you can tell where she goes?”

Melanie’s arms folded, and there was an obvious lean away from Jon in her stance. “What, like ghost hide-and-seek?”

“No, I—“ Jon thought for a moment. “Well… Kind of?”

She stared at him a moment, then shook her head with what was as much scoff as laugh. “Sure. Fine. Not like it’s the weirdest thing I’ve done here.”

Jon looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected her to agree, but hid it with a cough as he lifted his recorder. “Second test, tracking subject’s accuracy with regard to the movement of living persons.”

Melanie looked to Tim and mouthed, _Subject?_

_Frankenstein,_ he mouthed back, and she snickered behind her hand. 

“Now Tim, if you could… just keep your eyes closed, I suppose. A blindfold isn’t going to work on you, so we’ll have to go on faith.”

The first reply that jumped to Tim’s mind was some bull about blindfolds and taking him to dinner first, but he chose to spare Jon — for the time being. If he was taking this whole “act like everything was just as fine as it was before the archives” thing to its fullest, his especially terrible jokes would come calling sooner rather than later. 

It only took a couple passes of Melanie walking around the archives and Tim pointing to where she was that he turned back to Jon. “I don’t think me being able to hear her footsteps will do much for the accuracy here.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “We need somewhere carpeted. Elias’s old office has carpet—“

“Nope,” Tim said.

“Absolutely not,” said Melanie at the same time.

“He’s not even here, he’s in _prison,_ and there we won’t be interrupted—”

“Nope.” 

“Absolutely. Not.”

After an inordinate amount of bickering, their ghost science nonsense ended up at the library — it was carpeted and quiet enough that interruption was unlikely, with the added bonus of having never served as the Schemes Room for their evil boss. Let no one say Tim would settle for less than the best. 

_“Mr. Tim!”_

Tim barely had a moment to register the small form charging full pelt towards his legs before it careened right through him and into Jon. Miracle of miracles, Jon kept his footing.

“Junie, what have I _told_ you about running in the library?” 

As Juno tilted his head back to stare in bemusement at the equally bemused Jon, the library clerk Hannah hurried up to the group with baby Penny sleeping against her chest. At her desk Tim could see a scattering of abandoned coloring books and a small pile of goldfish crackers. 

“Sorry about him,” Hannah said as she lifted a hand to gesture Juno back over. Juno was far too busy staring at Tim to notice.

“Mr. Tim, my mummy said you died!”

Tim crouched to talk to the kid and waved off Hannah’s wince. “I got better. How’s second grade going?” 

“Boring!” Juno replied, grinning despite the complaint. “But all the teachers are doing teacher stuff today, and mummy forgot so she didn’t get a babysitter, so I’m here now and it’s boring too!”

“I’ll see if I can track down a spooky monster or two to liven things up.” Tim reached up to ruffle Juno’s mass of tight black curls, only to falter halfway through. Right. Couldn’t do that if he couldn’t physically touch.

Jon saved Tim from having to recover from his aborted action by clearing his throat. “I’m very sorry, um, sport, but we need to do some tests on the new ghostly abilities of Mr. Tim.”

Tim turned back to Jon and muttered, _"Sport?”_ Jon shrugged with a wild, lost look. Melanie’s face was in her hands, and from her shaking shoulders Tim could tell she was desperately muffling her laughter. 

Juno nodded, solemn. “That’s important! I wanna help.”

“Ah, I don’t think—”

Nope, sorry Jon. He wasn’t gonna crush the kid’s excitement. “We’ve got an important job for you, okay?” 

Juno stared at Tim with wide, serious eyes. Behind him, Hannah looked equal parts grateful for something to entertain her son and apprehensive about what those tests might entail. 

“Now, Ms. Melanie over here is going to walk around the library, and I have to see if I can tell where she is without looking, yeah? Jon’s the one keeping an eye on everything.”

Cue grumbles of, _Why is she Ms. Melanie and I’m just Jon?_ and _Was that a damn pun?_ Tim swatted at the legs of both the others to shut them up, but even if he hit his mark he couldn’t tell. They'd get the picture.

“I need you,” Tim continued as he pointed to Juno, “to make sure I keep my eyes closed and don’t cheat, okay? It’s a big job, but I think you can do it.”

Juno’s chest puffed out as he nodded and narrowed his eyes. He crossed his arms into an X shape in front of him and chirped, “No cheating here!” At his side, Hannah smiled thankfully at Tim for the distraction. She’d mentioned Juno’s ADHD diagnosis to Tim a while ago, and he still remembered just how stir crazy and restless Danny would get at the first sign of boredom when they were kids. He got very good at keeping him entertained, very fast — long hours at courtroom custody battles gave as much practice as he needed and then some. 

In only a few moments, they were arranged: Jon leaned against a table near the front desk; Tim stood a couple meters away; and Melanie, another few past him. Juno parked himself in front of Tim, arms folded and face screwed up in concentration. Tim flipped him a thumbs up, then closed his eyes. 

“Testing resumes,” said Jon, voice muffled by the distance and recorder in front of his mouth. “With assistance from guest researcher Juno Masters.” He acclimated to having a kid on board with a speed Tim hadn’t expected, no trace of any patronizing tone. 

The tests were very simple, so Tim kept Juno busy by every so often cracking his eyes open to keep Juno on his toes, or else sticking his tongue out to hear him laugh. 

After a few runs, they moved to Tim being able to track Melanie’s movement, with him continuing to point as she walked around the room. It didn’t take long before Tim felt something else. Without dropping his right hand from where he continued to follow Melanie, his left pointed to behind him.

“Jon, did you move? And…” His right hand shifted to point to the side. “And someone… there? Hannah?”

Jon didn’t reply directly. “Subject able to track without direct focus on any one person.” To Tim, “Yes, I wanted to see if this also required the same focus contact with objects does. How did you differentiate us?”

“Is it because I have Penny?” asked Hannah.

Tim shook his head, eyes still closed as he tried to pick out what set them apart. “No, I recognized Jon before I checked the other movement and felt you and her.” He opened his eyes to address Jon. “I think it’s because I know you well. Like, if someone held up a bunch of really blurry pictures of people, you might recognize ones you know well without much trouble, but the people you don’t know as well are harder to say for sure.” 

“Cheating! Cheating!” Juno bounced on his toes. Tim’s eyes crossed and he stuck out his tongue, then obligingly closed his eyes again. 

“Subject able to differentiate the… souls? Spirits? The… The life force of those he has a significant bond with. Exact duration required to differentiate is currently unknown — he’s known myself for approximately three years—”

“Four,” Tim interrupted.

“Hm?”

“Four. I joined in research about two years after you.”

“Four years, then.”

Juno lost patience with the conversation. “Mr. Tim! Mr. Tim, track me!”

Tim theatrically covered his eyes with a hand, his other arm directed straight out to point at Juno. With a laugh, Juno backed up, then turned to move deeper between the shelves. 

“ _Slow,_ Junebug!” called Hannah, exasperated.

Tim gave _slow_ chase, letting the small, bright life force guide him through a clear path. Behind him he could feel the spirit he was starting to recognize as Melanie’s near Hannah, chatting away. He didn’t need to hear the muttering into his recorder to recognize Jon’s not far behind. 

Just ahead, Juno made a sudden, sharp turn, giggling all the while. Tim’s own turn curved to follow without the same precise right angle. 

“Wait, Tim— Tim!” Jon called, voice a little startled. 

Tim dropped the hand that blocked his vision to see Juno stopped dead with his mouth hanging open and eyes bright white rings against his dark skin. Looking around showed the bookshelves he expected, though the fact that a row continued straight through his chest was a surprise. 

He was phased half through the shelf, head and shoulders fully emerged on one side, one leg still on the other, and the rest set into the old pages and wood. 

“...We really should have expected this, huh?” Melanie said from the desk. “Classic ghost powers, and all. If you start rattling chains in the tunnels while I’m trying to sleep, I’m getting an exorcist.”

Tim pulled his head back through to nod at her. “Reasonable.” 

“Woah!” Back on the other side, Tim could hear Juno bouncing in place. “Try and get me now!” 

Hand back over his eyes, smile back on his face, Tim gave chase once more.

* * *

“So, what, you just _phase_ through things now?”

“Seems that way.”

The only chair near Martin’s desk looked uncomfortable, but it wasn’t as if Tim could feel it. He tossed a stress ball up and down in the air, practicing manifestation as he described the tests.

Martin shook his head with a small, incredulous smile. A year ago, he would have laughed. A year ago, he would have had some shock, or surprise, or interested chattering. 

A lot had changed in a year, but Tim didn’t think this was solely due to exposure to the supernatural. 

“And you found out by _accident?”_

Tim nodded, eyes never leaving the dark blue ball. “We were testing how I can sense… _life force_ is the term Jon ended up using most. Not sure if that’s the official End-avatar jargon, but until that Oliver guy shows up again, it’s hard to know.”

“Mm.” Like at any other mention of Jon, Martin’s face clouded over, and Tim hid a grimace. He needed to be better about that — it wouldn’t help anyone if Martin started cutting Tim out as much as he did everyone else, and bringing up Jon would only encourage him to do so. Tim needed to play this more carefully than that. 

Time to change tracks. “I should go back and find my old geometry teacher to thank her. Couple of days ago I was in the break room and managed to land this _perfect_ angle — still surprised it even worked, honestly!”

He launched into a theatrical retelling, complete with sound effects and no small amount of dramatic tension. It was a bit much even for him, but that was no matter — anything to chase off some of that miserable emptiness on Martin’s face. When he got Martin to laugh, it was difficult to cover his triumph. 

“Alright, so you know you can go through things, and have them go through _you,”_ Martin said when he was finished. “But have you tried other, y’know… basic ghost abilities?”

“How do you mean?”

Martin rested his head against his palm. “You’re all scouring the statement you made for ideas on what to test, but you said you barely remember most of that whole week. I don’t think just going off that will get you very far. Why not stop overthinking it and just… try things?”

“I… Huh.” Tim shook his head in faint disbelief. “Feels pretty obvious when you put it like that.”

Pulling out a small notepad, Martin tapped his chin with his pen. “What about… Floating? You always see ghosts in cartoons hovering in midair, but you walk.”

“Worth a shot,” Tim replied as he stood. “I never know how to turn these things on, though.” 

“Can you just, um, lift your feet?”

Tim obliged with his left, but when he tried to lift his right he could feel his mind protest. Logically, he knew physics wasn’t much of a _thing_ for him anymore, but that didn’t mean the few decades and change he spent following those rules immediately vanished from his instincts. 

“...Halfway there!”

“Martin Blackwood, are you _sassing_ me?”

Martin shrugged with forced nonchalance and a barely hidden smile. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Tim flipped him off, still staring hard at the ground and trying to convince his body that gravity didn’t apply anymore. “How was using spooky ghost magic to let things pass through my damn body easier than this?”

“Probably because that was more passive, yeah?” Martin replied, thoughtful. “But now you’re trying to activate some ability rather than keeping a different ability still turned on.”

“Ugh. Pain in the ass.”

“Take it up with Terminus, I guess.”

Tim glared at his right shoe. “Stop touching the floor.”

Immediately, he sank through the carpet up to his knees. Shit.

“Oh, my g-d,” Martin choked through sudden laughter. “You look so _betrayed!”_

Tim snatched the stress ball he’d left on the chair and threw it at Martin, smacking him right between the eyes. “Piss off, I don’t have a bloody ghost power manual!”

“Can— can they see y-your _feet_ hanging through the— the _ceiling?!”_ wheezed Martin.

“Damn, and I didn’t even die in my good shoes. I need to go down to — what’s below us, paraphysics? — and make sure they know I can do better than beat-up trainers.” Tim grimaced as he pulled himself free from the old carpet. “If I knew I was going to be stuck in the same outfit forever like a bloody cartoon character, I would’ve worn something better than trousers and a plain shirt.” 

He turned his back to Martin, cocked a hip, and tossed a look over his shoulder. “Least these still make my ass look _fantastic.”_

Martin put his reddening face in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Christ alive.”

“What, am I wrong? A man’s gotta keep _some_ style even on a suicide mission.”

As he turned back around, Martin looked up, his smile faded and colored with something heavy. “I missed you.”

Nope. Not doing that right now. “I don’t blame you, I’m a delight. You’ll miss me more if I keep falling through the damn floor, so let’s get this floating thing worked out.”

The transition was clumsy at best, but Martin humored him. “Try jumping, maybe?” 

“Maybe...” Tim stepped up onto the chair. “No laughing if I cock this up.”

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. On three... Three.”

He stepped off with the nonsense mantra to _don’t follow gravity, just stay in the air, gravity is a lie from the government and certainly not something that applies to you_ circling in his head.

And... there he was, standing in midair. The drop in his stomach he still half-expected never hit. 

He looked over to Martin’s shocked face. “Those Vast avatar bastards would hate this, huh?” 

“R-right, I— wow, this is weird.” Martin squinted at him. 

“Did you expect me to fail?” Tim asked as he pressed a hand to chest. “Heartbreaking, really.”

“No, it’s just— You’re just— in midair now, is all. It doesn’t really compute in my head.”

“Would it help if I made myself look more transparent and ghostly?”

Martin opened his mouth to retort, then paused. “Can you even do that?”

“No idea!” Tim grinned. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“Alright, just— Shit.” Martin’s head tilted like he heard something far away. “Peter’s coming, you need to go.”

“What, he’s coming _now?”_

“Yes! Can you um— drop through the floor down below, so he doesn’t see you?!”

Tim shook his head as he scanned for possible escape routes and came up empty. “That’s what I need, to fall right on Ben while they’re in the middle of some experiment — I’d never hear the end of it. I barely know how to _control_ this shit, I don’t—“

The door behind him swung open, and the only thought in Tim’s head was _hide._

“Martin!” Peter came in with an insufferably cheery smile. “You seem surprised. Everything alright?”

Tim looked just in time to see Martin school his face from frantic shock to cool blankness in an instant. “Just that you came through the door today. Normally you come right out of the Lonely.”

“You told me you don’t like being surprised like that. I thought I’d give using the door a try! It’s not as much fun, so I can’t guarantee it’ll happen again. Now, tell me, Martin,” Peter continued without a waver to that cheer. He’d been in the room for thirty seconds, and already Tim wanted to punch him. Jesus. “I thought I heard you talking to someone before I came in! Did you have a visitor?”

Tim didn’t risk glancing down at himself, or even trying to move at all. Whatever he was doing to keep Peter from seeing him worked so far, and he wasn’t going to risk selling out Martin.

Martin, for his part, didn’t pause in his reply. “With all the statements you’ve had me reading, I’ve gotten in the habit of talking to myself. It’s not a conversation, just... me.”

Damn. Tim didn’t realize Martin was this good a liar. Just the right amount of hesitation to sound natural but not overthought, and his cover story was one that played right into the isolation Peter wanted. Tim was well-practiced at lying to authority, whether dodging trouble, getting information, or anywhere in between, and Martin spun untruths with the best of them. 

He never thought he’d see Martin as dangerous, but here they were. Impressive.

“Wonderful.” Peter’s smile gained an affectionate edge that made Tim’s hackles raise. “Speaking of, I picked up another statement for you!”

“Terrific,” Martin replied, voice drier than a desert. 

“When you’re done with that, I’d love your input on a dispute from the artifact storage staff.” Peter set a couple papers on Martin’s desk, presumably the statement. “You know my instinct is to — oh, how did you put it — _disappear_ them. I appreciate having someone here to see the other options!”

Tim was _raring_ to deck this asshole. Wasn’t enough to isolate Martin, no; he had to make sure Martin felt like the only thing stopping Peter from throwing every employee who looked at him wrong into the Lonely. 

But no, not now. He needed to wait. This wasn’t the time to make a move, it was the time to stay quiet and watch. Martin wouldn’t appreciate his interference here. 

“Sure. Are you headed out again?” There was no trace of eagerness in Martin’s voice, only vague interest.

“I am! I have a few other leads to follow up on, but I won’t be long.” 

“Right.” Martin picked up the page and scanned it with palpable disinterest. Peter’s smile as he watched set Tim’s teeth on edge. 

Peter went to leave, but paused before shutting the door behind him. “Oh, and if you’d be so kind as to let our company ghost know to meet me in my office, whenever he shows up next. Elias mentioned he died when I took over, so I never thought I’d be able to say hello. I’d love to introduce myself!”

“I’ll let him know if he comes here — I can’t exactly email him.” 

“Mm, true. If you ever happen to haunt the halls at the same time as him, then!” 

With a jaunty wave, Peter left. 

It took only a thought for Tim to drop whatever invisibility he picked up and touch back down to the floor. Before he could speak, Martin held up a hand with a series of small nods like he was counting.

When he dropped his hand, Tim growled, “Yeah, I’ll introduce my fist to your teeth.”

“Tim.” Martin sounded exhausted. “Please.”

Tim leaned forward on the chair with his palms braced on top of the back. “Sorry. You alright?”

“M’fine.” No hesitation. No waver. Martin really was a damn good liar.

There was a heavy pause. Martin’s temple rested against his fingertips as he kept scanning through the statement, though it didn’t look like he was absorbing any of it — it was merely something to keep him occupied so he didn’t have to look up.

“Well,” Tim sighed. “Guess I can turn invisible. Jury’s still out on the spooky half-transparent look, but I’ll keep you updated.”

Martin huffed a tiny laugh through the nose. “Sure thing.” He remained focused on the page, so Tim leaned to the side a bit to try and catch his eye. 

“D’you need some space?” It felt wrong to offer that when it was space that Peter was trying to build around Martin, but at the same time he understood how it felt to genuinely just need alone time. Lying games were exhausting, and playing them in defense of another were moreso. If Martin needed to decompress, Tim wouldn’t begrudge him that. He’d be back.

He knew it was the right call when Martin finally looked at him to nod gratefully. “Please.”

“I’ll pop in later with whatever fun undeath tricks I’ve discovered, yeah?”

Martin shifted in his seat, face set in rejection, but he paused before replying. “Just... make sure Peter isn’t here first.”

“Ooh, espionage.” Tim glanced over each shoulder in an attempt to bring back some of their earlier levity. “My code name is Casper.”

“And what does that make me?”

“Eagle Two, obviously.”

Martin’s head cocked with what Tim was certain was a hint of a smile. “And who’s Eagle One?”

“Need to know basis, Eagle Two. Need to know.” 

Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh, pardon me, then.” The humor in his eyes fell away after only a second, but the fact that it was there was an accomplishment that Tim was happy to run with for now.

“I’ll get out of your hair. Just...” It was a tall order, but he needed to say it. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

“I will, Tim,” Martin replied, his every word screaming that he would not. The fact that Tim expected as much didn’t soothe the ache in his chest it brought.

With another hopefully reassuring nod, Tim left him to it. 

Back when Elias had played all his fucked up mind games with Jon and gotten deep in his head, there was little Tim could have done even when he knew _something_ was going on.

He was an avatar now, with a hell of a lot more power and knowledge at his disposal, and he was going to make damn sure he didn’t sit back and let the same thing happen to Martin.

* * *

Turning invisible on a whim came with surprising ease, but making himself float remained a pain in the ass. Why one impossibility took a fraction of his focus and another took him stepping off a ledge and keeping his fingers crossed was hard to say, but far be it from Jon to let that stop him from theorizing. 

“—That’s assuming light even interacts with the subject’s body the same way, which is a hell of an assumption to make. You said you have no reflection, right?”

“Mm.” Maybe if he jumped? No, he didn’t want to just stand in the corner hopping around. He could save his less dignified trials for when Jon went to sleep. If he still needed sleep, anyway.

“No shadow, either. It’s surprising no one noticed that when he was on his way here, but I assume that comes down to how people avoid paying attention to things that don’t directly affect them. How many times does anyone even register another’s shadow? It’s nonessential data.” 

Maybe it was _Peter Pan_ rules, and he just needed a happy thought. 

Ha. Right.

“Though that in itself begs the question of why so few people stopped him on his trip here. Yes, there was a handful, but nowhere near as many as I would expect when walking over a hundred miles, most of it looking half-dead.”

“Nice.” Shove down the cynicism. Playing with Juno the other day should count as a happy thought, even when every so often he’d falter halfway through going to ruffle his hair, or swing him into a fireman’s carry, or any number of the ways he liked to goof off with kids he knew. He still got to chase him around and make him laugh. 

Still on the ground. Dammit.

“I— That was e-entirely accidental, I’m sorry. I-I think. Was it, ah, insensitive?”

“If we ever get an actual HR department, I promise I won’t report you.”

Jon huffed a dry laugh, then went back to unspooling his convoluted theories into the air. “I wonder if people’s focus might tend to move past him, unless he’s doing something that specifically draws attention.”

“Uh-huh.” Maybe if he just… thought about being light. He was just ghost particles, no weight at all. Didn’t matter that he was a relatively big guy, tall and broad-shouldered with a fair bit of muscle mass. Now he was a tall, broad-shouldered, fairly muscular specter. Spooky central.

Nothing. Even thinking it felt stupid.

“Though none of the staff here seem to have trouble. Or in the archives, at least — I don’t see the other staff enough to know for sure. It might be because those who work here all end up with some connection to the Eye, which allows them to look past such misdirection better than the average person, but that’s just a theory.”

Right. Eye-touched. Tim was pretty sure he heard someone phrase it that way recently, somewhere important. It was important, yes. Somewhen. Wasn’t it? 

Eh. Not as important as getting this floating business nailed down — there were _way_ too many opportunities to use that for his ghostly bullshit of the day to let it slide.

Jon was still talking into the recorder. “Basira and I of course paid direct attention when he first arrived for obvious reasons, and the same with Melanie when she joined us to test the internal compass.” Louder, he continued to Tim, “But you’ve spoken to both in less dramatic settings, I assume? Basira, before she left to chase her newest lead.”

“Yep.” Maybe if he just thought _up_. That brought the risk of rocketing him through the ceiling — half-falling through Martin’s floor stood too fresh in his memory to try right then. Another one to test alone.

“You still walk around the Institute and talk to people though, don’t you? Have you needed to get their attention first before they respond to your being there, or do they react as expected?”

Damn, this would bother him. Even stepping off chairs was only successful half the time — maybe he had to be like _this_ for a longer amount of time before his body fully accepted that things changed by a tad bit.

“Tim?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“...Were you listening to any of that?”

Tim turned from where he’d been studying the floor beneath his feet as if he could mentally force it further away and faced Jon, not quite as chagrined as he probably should have been. “Mostly?”

Chronic overuse through the last four years meant that Jon’s flat stare of disapproval hit with nowhere near the strength he probably wanted. “I asked if staff outside the archives have… skipped over you. Like, their eyes tend to move past you unless you do something that specifically grabs their attention.”

“I… I guess, yeah?” Tim shrugged, brows drawn as he thought. “I thought it was just, uh, discomfort. Must be weird to see a guy in a casket then a few months later have him wandering back around the office again.”

“That’s probably some of it.” From anyone else it might have been harsh, but from Jon it was nothing but a statement of fact. “My guess — and again, this is all just theory — it’s also something of a failsafe for your new state of being. If someone watched close enough to see when you accidentally clip through corners of furniture or not make contact with something the first time you go to touch it, that’d cause some, ah—“

“Chaos? Mass, worldwide panic?”

“Uncomfortable questions.”

Jon pulled himself out of the desk chair, grabbed his cane, and crossed to where Tim had gone back to tossing around the stress ball from Martin’s office. He wouldn’t get better at using his ghostly abilities — or in this case, _not_ using them, so he could actually touch the thing — without practice.

“Speaking of uncomfortable questions—“

“Bad way to introduce a topic, just so you know.”

And again, the _Jon Disapproves_ face. Tim just grinned and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, yes, everything is a euphemism, clever as always. _Anyway,_ I imagine that people will move around you when walking as much as their focus will skip over you.” He studied the air around Tim as if looking for some magical forcefield bullshit. “Not enough for the average person to notice, maybe, but enough to avoid small contact — like brushing shoulders with a passerby, and thus revealing your phantasmagoric nature.”

“Fiver if you can spell that.”

Jon raised a brow and did so without stumbling once. Prick.

Tim slapped his pockets. “Damn, left my wallet in the wax museum.”

“I’ll be sure to send a bill.” There was a strange hesitation to Jon’s reply, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to joke about— about _all that,_ but what were friends without a little black comedy?

Friends. Right. Hm.

“On the subject of said _phantasmagoric_ nature,” Jon said, soldiering on even as Tim flipped him off. “To test once more on tape…” 

Jon reached out and once more swept his hand through Tim’s shoulder, like he had the day Tim returned. Tim strained to feel any sort of sensation, even just a vague warmth or sense of motion, but there was nothing. 

“Subject unable to make contact with organic matter. Why it’s possible to interact with inorganic but not organic is unclear, but our business is currently in _what_ s, not _why_ s or _how_ s.” He paused. “Is that going to be… okay?”

“Is what?” 

“The lack of contact. You were always the most tactile of us, and—”

“It’s going to have to be okay,” Tim cut off with a shrug. “My complaining about it won’t change things.”

“Right.” Jon still looked unsatisfied, staring hard at Tim like he was trying to understand a complicated statement.

Tim had never liked that look. “Something on my face?” The words came more coolly than he intended, but Jon knew how much that shit rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Sorry, it’s just…” Thankfully, Jon broke his intense eye contact. Not so thankfully, that was a surefire sign he was gearing up to say something about _feelings_ or whatever. “You’ve been… very cheerful, ever since coming back. After that first day, I mean.”

“What, do you want me to doom and gloom everywhere?” However strongly he was projecting _I do not want to have this conversation,_ it wasn’t strong enough, and Jon steamrolled ahead.

“No, I’m just— I’m just surprised, is all. You’ve got plenty more to be upset about, what with being a ghost, and— and the avatar business, and—” 

“And my life was one long downward spiral? Everything was shit and then I died, right?” 

“N-not in so many words, but… You didn’t make any secret of the things that bothered you when you were, well, _alive.”_ Jon’s stance shifted as he leaned more heavily on his cane. “You haven’t even protested about my recording these tests.” 

“And what am I supposed to do about any of this?” Tim’s arms folded. “Can’t change it. Can’t un-avatar myself, or if there’s a way I don’t know it. It’s not like I can run off and die _again.”_ There was a moment of quiet. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to not having options.”

“Tim—”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s the next test, bossman?”

Silver glinted in Jon’s eyes, the desire to ask more written all over his face. Curious. Always curious.

He could ask his questions, and if he did Tim knew the answers would taste like static. 

_Why don’t you just Archivist me, then? Pull it straight out?_

The moment broke alongside their eye contact. Like so long ago in the tunnels, Jon didn’t want to — or, he did, and knew better than to try. Whatever line existed between the two felt less solid than ever, a thought Tim had no desire to chase.

“Your appearance was the last thing I had on the list. Clothing, visibility, et cetera.” Jon went back to the desk and shuffled some things around. Nothing he grabbed seemed like it had anything to do with what he was saying, nor did it actually tidy anything. It was a nervous tic that Jon had as long as Tim had known him — the need to fidget, to move, to do _something_ with the energy that made his fingers tap on any surface near enough and fling pens across the room when he got too exuberant twiddling it between his fingers. If Jon wasn’t just as ADHD as Danny and Juno, Tim would eat his own shirt. 

A shirt he was stuck in for eternity, even. He was _that_ sure. 

Eternity was a concept that Tim was so hilariously unprepared to think about he almost laughed aloud. Eternity. Forever. Always. 

Jesus.

Shirts, though. He could do that.

“So what do you reckon about clothes, then? Is there some special changing booth I go in like in a video game, or am I just stuck in this?”

Jon snorted as he tapped a random assortment of pages into an equally random but somewhat neater stack. “I’m flattered that you think I know where any secret ghost changing rooms might be, or if they exist in the first place.” He flipped his coat off the back of the chair and held it out to Tim. “Put this on.”

It was a near-physical strain to hold back a joke about chivalry, and how much of a _gentleman_ Jon was, offering his coat like that.

He took it, some beat-up old thing with nearly as many scuffs and scars as Jon himself, and swung it around his shoulders. Or, his shoulder, singular. Jon was shorter by him by a handful of inches, and built like he was made of nothing but matchsticks and spite besides.

Silence.

“Not really my style,” Tim eventually said

Jon nodded, still watching the coat.

More silence until again Tim spoke. “What exactly are we testing, here?”

“If it… stays on you, I guess,” Jon said in what sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Cool.” Tim shifted where he stood for lack of anything better to do. 

Just two guys, standing around in the office, staring at a ghost in a jacket that didn’t fit him. And people saying working in the archives would be boring.

Jon straightened up out of nowhere, as if an idea just crash landed in his thoughts. Maybe it did — hell if Tim knew how all that Eye garbage worked. Bit out of his pay grade.

“I can’t touch _you_ , but what if…” Jon reached out again, and Tim focused as hard as he could on staying present and tangible. Teamwork, and all.

“Tim? Can you feel anything?”

Opening eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed, Tim looked over to see Jon’s fingers closed around his upper arm, right where the plain black band tattooed around his bicep sat. 

He should have felt the pressure of Jon’s hand, even past his shirt sleeve and the coat over it. He should also have been very dead, not just mostly dead. Reality never cared much for what Tim thought should be the case.

“...Nothing.” He didn’t try very hard to keep disappointment from coloring his voice. “You?” 

“Just a… a blockage, I think. I can’t close my hand tighter, but there’s none of the give I would expect from flesh.” 

Jon stepped back. Tim from a couple years ago would have missed the contact. Tim from one year ago would have made quite clear how much he _appreciated_ the personal space between them, using whichever words felt most like knives between his teeth. Here, now, Tim let the coat fall through his shoulder, then caught it with a manifested hand to give back to Jon. If their fingers brushed, he had no way of knowing. 

He tried not to let himself think of those small bits of contact he used to scatter throughout the day with Jon, years ago. Jon was so touch starved Tim could read it across the room not long after they met, but jumpy as anything. He wasn’t one Tim could lean on to pester into getting some food in him after a long day at his desk, or one he could pull into a short, ridiculous dance in the break room when a song Tim liked came on. Sasha, she always played along — right? And Martin did the same, after some time to acclimate. Jon got gentle bumps to the shoulder when they passed each other between the narrow archive shelves, and a press of hand to hand when Tim passed him the most recent confidential information he’d managed to sweet-talk his way into. 

Did anyone ever touch Jon, these days? 

It didn’t matter. Tim was never going to be someone who did. 

“Subject able to make contact with other clothing items not part of the outfit he— he died in, the same as any other nonorganic material. Contact with organic material possible with clothes between, but doesn’t feel like touching a living being. Again, the logistics behind this are largely unknown, but that’s a paraphysics question.” Jon continued to mutter into his recorder even as he draped his coat back over the chair — always a multitasker. 

After another beat, he turned back to scrutinize Tim for what felt like the thousandth time. “I wonder… Is the reverse true as well?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “The reverse?” 

“The logistics of— of _ghost clothing_ isn’t really something we have a lot of data about, as you can imagine. And it was also damaged when you had all the, um—”

“Horrible gore and death and everything?”

“...Not how I would have said it, but sure. Is it part of you now?”

“Damn, part of me?” Tim laughed. “I really should have made a point to die in something nicer. Hindsight, I guess.”

“That’s beside the point.” Jon held out a hand. “Give me your shirt, I want to check something.”

Oh, thank Christ — something Tim could work with to get the depressing funk out of the air. 

Already undoing the buttons, Tim smirked at him. “Awful bold before the first date, huh?”

Jon blinked at him. Tim could almost see a buffering icon as Jon processed the remark, then turned scarlet. 

“That is _not_ what this is, you ass!” He made a swing for Tim’s shins with his cane as Tim laughed, habit making him try to dodge the strike. 

Still grinning, Tim handed his shirt over. Jon went to grab it, and they both watched as it fell right through his fingers and hit the ground. 

“...Well. Not what I intended.”

Tim picked the shirt up again. “And what _was_ the intention, boss?”

“If you have some sort of default appearance, mostly,” Jon replied as he ran a hand through his messy curls. “Meaning, body undamaged, hair tied back, those clothes specifically, all that.”

“Sure. So, just toss this to the side and see what happens?” 

“I thought it might work to put it in another room entirely, to see if that extra bit of distance changes anything.”

Tim obliged, opening the door to the side room with the oldest files and tossing his shirt on the nearest shelf. Jon nodded when he turned around and picked up his recorder again.

“Subject able to remove things from what the record will call for the sake of efficiency, his default state. Testing resumes to chart what, if anything, happens to bring back said default.” Jon looked up from his recorder, only to visibly startle.

The shirt was back. Sleeves rolled just the same and everything. 

“I— What the hell?” Jon squinted as if he thought it might just be a smudge on his glasses. Tim didn’t really have it in him to be surprised by anything at this point.

“I paid a lot of money for my tattoos, and if ghost bullshit means no one will ever see them I’m going to be pissed,” Tim grumbled. “Blackwork is expensive. Hurts like hell, too.” He’d been more than a little upset when those damn worms messed with the ink — more so the bands on his upper arms than the design across his back, but only one of two symbolized grief and mourning. 

He’d cried a little when he saw the holes punched through each tattoo, but in his defense, there was a lot going on that day. Sue him. 

Jon waved off Tim’s complaint, which only tempted him to complain more. He held his tongue, but if these tests kept dragging on, he wasn’t accountable for his actions. 

“When did— Can you take it off again, so I can pinpoint when that happens?”

Again, Tim obliged, this time not even bothering to put it in the side room. Jon stared hard at his every move as he waited for whatever supernatural power ruled over preserving ghost clothes to strike. 

The creak of the door opening wasn’t enough to pull Jon’s focus away, but Tim turned and waved to where Melanie stood still out in the hall.

“Whatever this one is,” she said after a brief pause. “I’m not helping.”

Tim shrugged. “Your loss.”

“Yes, hello, Melanie. We’re just— _son of a—”_ Jon whipped around to face her. “Did you see?!” 

She stared at him. “See what, you studying Tim like he has the secrets of the universe tattooed on him?”

“I looked away for a _second,_ just when you came in—”

“Oh, so it’s _my_ fault, is it?”

“—And as soon as I looked back, it’s just— it’s there again!”

Melanie scoffed. “Right, well, as enthralling of a mystery as that is, I can’t help you. I didn’t see either.” 

“Tim?” Jon had that look in his eyes bordering on mania whenever he got particularly fixated on something. “Did you?”

“Can’t say I did, no, but I don’t think I ever noticed the whole— appearance-shifting thing.” He shrugged. “It just _happens.”_

Dissatisfaction with Tim’s answer was written all over Jon’s face, and he chewed on his thumbnail in concentration. He mumbled more into the recorder still in his hand, low enough that Tim couldn’t make much out. 

“I’ll just… come back when all,” Melanie said as she gestured vaguely at them, _“this_ is done.”

Tim grinned at her. “You sure? Show of a lifetime.”

“Tempting,” she replied, sounding in no way tempted. “But I’ll pass.”

The door closed once more, and Tim turned back to Jon still muttering away. One of his hyperfocused moods, then. Dammit.

Tim leaned to the side to get Jon’s attention from where he was staring a hole in the ground. “Hey, boss, you eat anything today?” He always had more success getting Jon to get some food or sleep if he got him pulled away just before that mood could really kick off, and kept his fingers crossed that it would still stand.

Jon blinked at him. “I read a statement a few days ago.”

“As exciting as it sounds to unpack whatever the hell that means, I’m talking about actual food. When did you eat last?”

“Um…” The moment it took Jon to remember was answer enough. “Probably… sometime yesterday, I— I think.”

“Go get some chips or something before getting the ball rolling. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A familiar, stubborn look crossed Jon’s face. “I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it. Go get food.” 

It wasn’t until Tim threatened to reorganize the archives by order of which statements he thought would make the best made-for-TV movies — a threat he could easily carry out without any need to sleep and long nights alone as the others slept — that Jon left, grumbling all the while. If this was anything like when they worked in research, he’d find some pack of crisps or crackers and call it enough as if nutrients were a myth, but that was still better than nothing. 

A powerful wave of nostalgia hit Tim, strong enough that he had to take a moment and sit on the nearest desk. How many times did he and Jon have that exact same conversation, with Jon insistent on forging ahead through whatever study he was working on or bit of research he was following up, and Tim reminding him that his work wouldn’t be near as good on an empty stomach? He could pry Jon away from his desk in other ways, but bringing up his work quality was always the one point Jon couldn’t argue. 

They could never go back to the past, no. It was knit into their very skin, in the matching scars scattered like freckles deep into the flesh beneath. It was in all the words they said and didn’t say over the last years of Tim’s life.

They couldn’t go back. That didn’t mean Tim couldn’t use his same tricks to break through that weight of overwork and tension and unacknowledged grief. They worked when he first joined the Institute with fresh memories of calliope and color dancing through whatever had pretended to be Danny; they worked when Jon spent night after night after long, long night trying to prove his diligence to himself and always deciding it wasn’t enough. 

Levity in all things. It wasn’t a mantra to be written in stone or gilded in church halls, but it was Tim’s. 

By the time Jon got back, Tim managed to play nonchalance as well as ever. Jon could tell _something_ was up — he didn’t need any spooky eye magic to catch the half-smile Tim could never shake when waiting for a joke to land. 

Tim was patient. Maybe it was part of the whole End thing, but he kept himself from nudging Jon towards the punchline’s trigger without trouble. Eventually, Jon lost focus on whatever he could tell Tim had planned in favor of scattered tests, rambling into his recorder, and staring off into space as he thought about whatever he needed extra time to process. 

They couldn’t go back, but Jon’s flat glare when he found a partially used tape in his stack of older statements and hit play to hear, _“Statement of Joe Spooky, and this time I_ am _the sinister happenings,”_ felt just like old times.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's a reference for tim's tattoos!](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com/post/190468519608/tim-stoker-voice-i-dont-care-about-the-muscle)
> 
> coming soon: using all these fun ghost abilities so much will sure take it out of you! tim learns how to refill the tank
> 
> catch me at [@titanfalling](https://titanfalling.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
